Super Happy Happy Mega Super Fun Happy Show
by TehVoices
Summary: The grins alone proved what they were thinking, cackling, “DOOM! DEATH! DESTRUCTION!” and similarly ominous ‘d’ words. (One-shot, thank the Lord above...) (Reloaded 'cause the errors were irksome)


Super Happy Happy Mega Super

Fun Happy Show

That's right; another hoowatsit from god-only-knows-where that you could print out to use as fuel for a bonfire, make an airplane to assualt pedestrians with, or perhaps to fold into itty bitty pieces and use as a coaster. Or read it and bask in the irrelevance.

I own Yuugiou as much as I own a life. n.n;; 'Nuff said.

Lastly, in the words of the great Mark Twain...

_Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosectued; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. By order of the Author._

_...ess._

"_Doctor!_" the nurse squealed, daintily tip-toe-dashing towards the Fabio-lookalike, stethoscope not included. "This patient is in critical condition!"

The rather unnerved teenaged boy looked sideways at the nurse, who had dragged him all the while tip-toe-dashing. He vainly tried to edge away. "Er, no it's okay, really..."

Dr. Fabio looked broodingly concerned, making all the nearby females swoon ( a handful of men swooned as well, but we won't go into that ). Even his clipboard looked sexy, though anyone that would find a clipboard sexy would no doubt be smited by televangelist priests.

"What's wrong with him?" A group of passing nurses promptly fainted.

"He has..." the seemingly swoon-impermeable nurse dramtically brought the boy's hand into view. "... a _SCRATCH!"_

Dr. Fabio gasped. "DEAR GOD!" he cried, awaking all of the unconcious visitors and personnel ( many of whom fainted again at the sight of him ). "WE NEED A STRETCHER IN HERE!"

The boy now looked thoroughly bewildered. "Dude, seriously, it's just a scra- KWAH!" He was cut off as a stretcher barreled from out of nowhere ( actually, it was brought by a convenient nurse, but she had passed out as soon as coming within 10 feet of Dr. Fabio ), and consequently was pulled onto it.

Twin doors flew open as the stretcher, pushed by a Fabio-led crew of doctors made a beeline for the ER.

"Get me 40 cc's of sodium pentothol!"

"God, God, GOD! I _CANNOT TAKE THIS PRESSURE!_"

**SMACK!** "Calm DOWN, man! We can do this!"

"The defribulator, dammit, get the _DAMN DEFRIBULATOR!"_

"What the hell is wrong with you people? I just need a band-aid or someth-"

"...he's delirious! Quick! Anisthetic!"

"Um...we're out."

"DAMMIT! No, NO, I am _NOT LOSING ANOTHER ONE!"_

"...just hit him with something."

"Wait, WHAT! You can't d-"

**THUMP.**

"Alright..." Fabio began, grimacing as he surveyed the scratched finger with his trusty stethoscope. "Looks like an aneurism. That arm'll have to come off..." He held out a hand. "Chainsaw."

**RRRRMMM! RMMMM! Putterputterputterputterputter...**

"Huh...what are you... **_AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"_**

"Tuh." Yami Bakura tsked from his belly-down position on the living room floor, apparently nonplussed at the grisly splatters emanating from the television. "Like anyone nowadays has aneurisms."

"Lots of people have aneurisms." Ryou Bakura droned mildly from his computer desk, sapped from the toll of his APA paper. Tickety-tack, tickety-tack; after a few hours of googling for muscular dystrophy and wondering if that was the first twinge of carpal tunnel in their wrist, _anyone_ would be pretty drained. "It's the cause of aneurisms no one knows..." He yawned, shoulders popping as he stretched and pondered the possibility of a taking break. "Besides, if you don't believe it, why bother watching that show?"

Ignoring the inquery of his boredom-spurred television viewing, the spirit-that-shouldn't-have-had-a-body-but-did-anyway rolled moodily onto his back. He scowled, wielding the remote like a sword as he clicked away the offending program.

Suddenly a sickeningly happy, bouncy, sugar-coated theme song screeched like a mid-seizure howler monkey, making the two mop-tops ( Just look at their hair! LOOK AT THEIR HAIR! _LOOK AT IT! _) cringe in unison. Later on it would be noted that several of the kitchen windows had shattered at this, and perhaps even the sound barrier. But for now the pair were more concerned with the state of their eardrums, stirrups, hammers, and whatever other anatomical paraphernalia is contained in the human ear.

"HEY KIDDIES!"

Ryou was given the impression of rusty nails on a pissed-off chalkboard from the seventeenth lair of hell, but was moreso mortified to see it had come from a freakishly euphoric-looking badger. Acidic pink fur, dinner plate-eyes - the whole deal.

Bakura, on the other hand, was frozen with fear, the remote having long since dropped from his nerveless fingers. His eyes were almost as wide as those of the acid-tripped raccon - badger - _whatever_ the hell it was.

"It's ME, your friend Bubba Badger! And it's time for..."

A menagerie of horrifiyingly happy, grinning, bouncy, fluffy, vomit-inducingly kawaii creatures scuttled, hopped, skipped and froliced into view, clearly gathering for a sacrificial ceremony.

"**_SUPER HAPPY HAPPY MEGA SUPER FUN HAPPY SHOW!"_**

The blood-curdling cry was enough to make the Tomb Robber stumble backwards several paces. The dominions of demidemonicism had begun dancing and chattering inanely, enough to send one into a diabetic shock. The grins alone proved what they were thinking, cackling, "DOOM! DEATH! DESTRUCTION!" and similarly ominous 'd' words.

"Today we're going to..."

_**SMASH!**_

With little other choice, Bakura had demolished the television screen with a well-aimed kick. Paler than usual, the psychosadist jabbed an accusing finger at the remains of the entertainment system.

"See! SEE!" Shrilly, a few octaves higher than usual. "THIS is the crap that causes aneurisms!"

Ryou wasn't even mad his talking box was in shambles. "That... was nuttier than squirrel crap."

"Yes. Yes it was."

Quite relieved his house was devoid of mind-imploding chimpanzees ( or whatever the hell was on that show, which, in his opinion, should have been rated 'WTD' - Worse Than Death ) and that the distraction would be gone, Ryou was about to start back into his paper... but...

"...you have a scratch on your foot."

"Eh?" The spirit blinked, looking at the besocked foot he had kicked out at the television with. And indeed, a small smudge of red signified a superficial scrape on his toe.

"What does that ma-?"

But Ryou had disappeared down the cellar, only to resurface moments later, chainsaw in hand. The combination of an all-nighter and the acid-tripped kangaroos had obviously done something to the mop-top ( **_LLLLOOOOOKKKK AAAATTT ITTT!1)_**, for he had a slightly deranged look about him.

"Hold still, Yami." he ordered mildly, "I saw this on TV once."

_**...breakybreakybreakybreaky...**_

Uh... not much else to say. 6.6; Proof that television can inspire horrors beyond the imagination... oh, and unlicensed amputations performed by half-deluded albinos with APA assignments.

_**Oh ja. Bask, you fools, bask.**_


End file.
